Seven Year Switch (2010) Read Online Free PDF

made things worse? Obviously it had to be hard for her to see other kids with their dads. But, then again, one-parent families were practically the norm these days.
    I did my best to be honest, matter-of-fact, and nonjudgmental when I talked about Seth, and I was pretty sure I’d pulled itoff reasonably well, given the circumstances. I mean, what the hell do you say?
    I told Anastasia Daddy had gone away, but it didn’t mean he didn’t love her. I told her he was in the Peace Corps, in Africa, and that made us sad, but he knew Mommy was taking good care of her. Actually, I only knew the Africa part secondhand, from Seth’s parents, but I didn’t tell her that.
    I told Anastasia I didn’t know if he’d be back, that sometimes grown-ups do things that don’t make sense, and it’s okay to be sad about it. That I was sad about it, but I knew we’d be okay without him. We were a team. We were fine. I’d always be there for her. Mommy wasn’t going anywhere.
    I knew I could have gotten Seth kicked out of the Peace Corps. It would only have taken a phone call. I could have gone after him for child support, too, which would probably also have gotten him kicked out of the Peace Corps, since I was pretty sure they wouldn’t have taken him if they knew about Anastasia and me.
    I could have done lots of things, but I just didn’t. A part of me kept thinking he’d call, or he’d write, or he’d come home because he missed us, but he just didn’t.
    And the years went by.
    The funny thing about life is that even the most unbearable things start to feel normal after a while. Hearts heal. Memories fade. Anastasia had a scrapbook filled with pictures of her dad that we kept on the bookcase next to the fireplace. I couldn’t even remember the last time she’d taken it out to look at it.
    She was fine. The daddy slip didn’t mean a thing. She’d just gotten caught up in the moment. It meant she wanted a horsie ride, goddammit, not that she was desperate for a daddy. A daddy who would probably visit her twice before he took off and broke her heart again.
    It was after nine, an hour past the end of my shift, and I realized I was still wearing my headphone. I took it off, threw it onto the kitchen counter, opened the refrigerator, closed it again.
    I paced a lap around the living room. Then another.
    Eventually I opened the door to Anastasia’s room just a crack. She’d kicked the covers off and had one arm wrapped around the neck of her favorite stuffed animal, a monkey named Banana.
    She still slept with the same night-light she’d had since birth. It was a cow jumping over the moon. I knew soon, very soon, she’d notice it and say it was a baby light. She’d insist on trading it for something covered in pink and purple daisies. And not long after that she’d declare a moratorium on night-lights of any kind.
    But to night it bathed her face in its soft yellow glow.
    I tiptoed into her room and reached for her covers to pull them up, so she wouldn’t wake up cold in the middle of the night. Her pink plaid diary was sprawled open on the sheet beside her, the key sticking out of its lock.
    I picked it up.
    I was so not the kind of mother who would ever snoop in her daughter’s diary. But I did it anyway, standing in the hallway outside her bedroom, my heart beating wildly, because I knew my daughter would totally flip out if she caught me. Maybe most mothers eventually break their own code of ethics this way, and in our defense I would have to say it comes from the fiercest kind of love. The world is a tough place, and children are so terrifyingly fragile. Making sure your kid is okay trumps everything.
    I’d only look at the last page—just a quick mom check. I flipped quickly through the blank lined pages in the back of the diary, listening for footsteps from Anastasia’s room.
    And then I came to this:
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